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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27219277">Fictober 2020 Booster Gold Fills</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmnesiaticRoses/pseuds/AmnesiaticRoses'>AmnesiaticRoses</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Fictober 2020 Fills [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Booster Gold (Comics), DCU (Comics), Justice League International (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 08:41:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,750</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27219277</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmnesiaticRoses/pseuds/AmnesiaticRoses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Here lie my Fictober 2020 fills for various Booster Gold comics. :)</p><p>Prompt 12: “Watch me.” -- A certain self-assurance never leaves Booster Gold<br/>Prompt 19: “I can’t do this anymore” --  The specter of his father haunts Booster on Halloween.<br/>Prompt 23: “Do we have to?” -- Booster and Ted on monitor duty.<br/>Prompt 24: “Are you kidding me?” -- Booster and Ted try some training.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Fictober 2020 Fills [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1984177</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prompt 12: Watch Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>These are un-beta-ed, largely unedited and hastily written, since I'm trying to keep to writing about one a day. So, apologies if there are issues with them! Some are stories I thought about writing for a while. Some are short scenes I might turn into longer fics in the future. And some, I admit, were thrown together on a whim. Comments and critique welcome, as always.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You ready to go, Booster?”</p><p><br/>
Coach Green tosses the football and Michael catches it with ease, cradling it the way he’d been taught years back, when football was an exciting new game and not his key to a college degree. He looks down at the ball, then at the little paper full of plays on his wrist.</p><p><br/>
First start. First start ever. Under the lights.</p><p><br/>
With this, he would become somebody.</p><p><br/>
“You got a debut win in you?” Coach Green prompts, raising one eyebrow. Michael knows what he’s doing, that it’s all part of a performative song and dance even if he might not know the word performative. But it’s OK. He’s majoring in business, not language. Business and football.</p><p><br/>
“Watch me,” he says with a grin.</p>
<hr/><p>“And they said they were told that they should clean it up themselves!”</p><p><br/>
The rage in his boss’s face is palpable, but what can Michael do? The janitorial crew is eight people, and whoever did this wasn’t him, but saying so will sound like a lie. He knows this because he’s already told this gorilla of a man it wasn’t him that the guests complained about. But he was on the shift, and the others no doubt already said it wasn’t them either.</p><p><br/>
And who are they going to be believe? A good, hard-working janitor, or the lazy slacker who blew his chance at fame and riches for …</p><p><br/>
Well, he won’t think about that. For nothing. He did it for nothing. So maybe they’re all right after all.</p><p><br/>
“I’m moving you to the overnight shift,” the guy -- Branson, Bronson, Brownson? -- shouts. Michael can see little flecks of spit flying through the air in the harsh museum lights. “And you better shape up if you don’t want to be out on your ear!”</p><p><br/>
<em>Who says out on your ear anymore</em>, Michael wondered. But aloud, he forces a semi-professional tone and says, “I won’t let you down sir. Just watch me.”</p>
<hr/><p>Being a rookie superhero has its perks, but being second on the scene means having to work a little harder for the spotlight. Luckily for the people involved in this train crash, Booster Gold is here now, to speed up their rescue -- with a smile.</p><p><br/>
As he lifts an entire train car so the rescuers can get to a trapped old man, however, he sees the eyes turn to him. And once they’re sure everyone’s out, the cameras are there and a pretty reporter has a microphone. She makes a quick introduction. He corrects his name. She apologizes and goes on to explain, more or less accurately, what had gone on here.</p><p><br/>
Then she turns it over to him.</p><p><br/>
It feels like the microphone has eyes. Like it’s watching him. Like he can feel the eyes of the viewers, but not through the camera, which is large and alien and impersonal. No, he sees the people in the microphone. That’s the way his words will go.</p><p><br/>
“You’ve got a new superhero on the patrol. I’m always on the job,” he says to the microphone. Winks.</p><p><br/>
“I hope you’ll all watch me.”</p>
<hr/><p>Alone in his living room, Booster stares down at his hands. He wishes, not for the first time, that he’d thought to bring a picture. Even one. His mother. His sister. But there’s nothing. Just his empty hands. He can’t even go back. And with everything that happened, there was almost no way, news of a hero like him would make it all the way forward to when his mother and then sister would be born.</p><p><br/>
And even if it did, would they ever connect this Michael Carter to theirs? There had to be hundreds -- thousands -- of men with his name over the centuries.</p><p><br/>
No, he was the newest member of the Justice League, but he was also a failure, a washout, a criminal and worse of all, a faithless family member.</p><p><br/>
Maybe it was for the best. He felt like any picture would only remind him of how badly he’d failed them. <em>Dad’s still there and I’m gone. Some protector. Some son.</em></p><p><br/>
“But I’ll do better,” he muttered to the empty room. His hands curl into fists. “I will.”</p><p><br/>
“Watch me.”</p>
<hr/><p>The timestream is a beautiful place.</p><p><br/>
Booster stares out at it for the moment, just letting the relative peace of the moment wash over him. He’s old … he knows he has an age, but with time travel, repeating time, skipping time, over and over again, he could be a hundred and wouldn’t know. He just knew it had been a long time. Long since he saw Ted. Longer still since Michelle.</p><p><br/>
But people kept messing up the timestream. Disturbing this beauty and peace. And so he had to go out again. Or again and again and again, if that’s what it took. Saving the entirety of reality from threat after threat it never even registered to the rest of the world.<br/>
Again.</p><p><br/>
Again and again.</p><p><br/>
God, he’s getting so tired. The tired runs bone-deep these days.</p><p><br/>
But there’s another threat. Another potential end to the world. And so, there has to be another save. Another rescue. So he puts a hand on the glass wall of the time sphere.</p><p><br/>
“I’m not done yet,” He says to the empty time machine. “I won’t ever be done. Just watch me.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Prompt 19: Halloween Ghosts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Halloween is a perfect time to be haunted, regardless of what you want.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The night had started out with Booster trying a few different Halloween-themed mixed drinks. The internet of the 2010’s might not be quite as useful as the one from his time, but it never failed to offer him creative new ways to get drunk. And if there was one thing in this house that deserved a superlative, it was the bar in his fancy living room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least this building didn’t let kids from outside come trick or treating. You wouldn’t even know it was Halloween, if it weren’t for the creative booze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well… at least earlier that would have been an indicator. At this point in the evening, his “Jeckyll and Gin” had just become straight gin. Though in deference to the ghosts in the house, he at least kept pouring it over ice instead of pulling straight from the bottle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t do that,” he said aloud to the part of his mind that noticed it as he tossed back another shot. “Y’drink from the bottle, then yer a …”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And his mind clamped down on that line of thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taking the gin bottle and his newly empty glass with him, he wandered across to the TV. A lot of history had made it through to his time, but a lot of these old black and white, corny horror movies? They’d been lost to time long before Booster Gold, superhero, had even been born. Sometimes he thought too hard about it, and it made for a surreal watching experience.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This one had a vampire whose only real nod to being a vampire was the long, black cape. He was slinking around a buxom young lady in a nightie who looked unconvincingly surprised each time the guy hovered just a bit too close. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Plopping down on the couch, Booster poured another shot and raised the glass toward the TV screen. “Here’s to avoiding people who only see you as things,” he toasted to the woman. “You’re too cute for him anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He downed the drink.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Out of all the things you could have gotten from me, you decided on the bottle instead of the brains.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Booster waved the glass in the air as though trying to swat away an insect. “You’re not here,” he said to the darkness. Even though it was Halloween, the day when the veil between real and ghosts was said to be thinnest. Could ghosts come through from the future? “Go away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Telling someone who’s ‘not here’ to ‘go away’? As I said…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Ignoring the voice, Booster stood abruptly, almost letting the gin bottle fall loose from his hand. Finally, </span><em><span>finally </span></em><span>people here in the past had begun to take him seriously. It was supposed to be great. It was supposed to be fun. Why was it so </span><em><span>hard</span></em><span>? And not the heroing. That was about the only good part, even when it didn’t go exactly as planned. No, it was … it was …</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Living. Why was living here so hard? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He missed his sister. He missed his mom. He missed the few friends who hadn’t just abandoned him after his stupid, stupid choices. They were all gone, in his past, in his future, and the only voice he ever heard in his ear in these quiet, lonely moments was </span><em><span>that </span></em><span>one, the shittiest person who had ever crossed his path.</span>
</p><p>
  <span><em>Impulse control never was your strong suit, not since you were a kid.</em></span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like you’d know,” Booster muttered, aware there was no one here, that he was talking to the air. But maybe that made it easier. “You left before you could learn what either of us would be like. You only knew mom was about to stop taking your shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span><em>I made the right call, didn’t I? Look at you. Kicked out of school, dead end job in hand but you couldn’t even cut that.</em></span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And whose fault was it?” Booster demanded of the silence. He prowled around the dark room, the floor made indistinct by the flickering light of the TV. “Who came to campus saying, begging me to help, because if I couldn’t help you get your money they were going to hurt you. </span><em><span>It’s the last thing I’ll ever ask you</span></em><span>. Remember saying that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span><em>And you bought it. If you were smarter, stronger, you would have said no. But you were a pushover just like that-</em></span>
</p><p>
  <span>Booster threw the glass. It flew a perfect arc, dead on as ever, and smashed into the TV. The device let out a worrying squeal and flashed a few sparks before dying completely. The move cut the voice off, but it didn’t matter, did it? Because he knew what it was going to say. Because it was mis own mind, replaying treacherous thoughts from his youth when he didn’t understand why his mother let this man who hurt her back into their lives over, and over, and over. And he’d been so sure he was smarter, that while he might tell his mom to never even look at the asshole again, he’d somehow been convinced that he could tell if his dad was lying. At least his mom had listened to him out of necessity. Booster had listened out of … what, pity? Misplaced, broken love?  A thought that maybe he could actually work out some sort of relationship with that…</span>
</p><p>
  <span><em>And now you’re here. Somehow even more of a loser as a superhero than you were as a janitor.</em></span>
</p><p>
  <span>A loser. Booster blinked. Looked down at the bottle of gin, still in one hand. Thought, <em>I need to call someone. I really, really need to-</em></span>
</p><p>
  <span>But who? Dirk? He would let Booster ramble, but he wouldn’t listen. May as well talk to the wall for the good it would do. Trixie … who could tell. She might listen, but she reminded him a little of his mother -- kind and accommodating and putting other people first. He’d just be burdening her if he called her. So then…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So then who do you call when you have literally no friends? When you’re all alone. When you can’t even visit the graves of your loved ones, because they won’t be born for lifetimes yet? Every single thing that had gone wrong, both before the whole hero thing and since, seemed to be knotting around his spine and making his whole body heavy. Or maybe it was the alcohol. What had possessed him, what on earth had possessed him to think drinking this problem away could ever be the right solution? It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>solution. Booster should know better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The gin dropped to the floor. Tipped over, spilling its contents across the expensive carpet. Booster stared down at it, watching the discoloration grow as the liquor flowed smoothly out. “What was I thinking?” he asked the air. “I can’t do this anymore. I can't…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But what else was there? So he sat up the better part of the night, staring out the window at the impersonal lights of the city until he passed out. He didn’t remember when it happened, just that he’d gone from idly tracing patterns with his eyes in the lights to waking up with the taste of stale booze in his mouth and his alarm going off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t do this anymore? It didn’t matter. The alarm was going off. People were waiting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Booster got ready, pasted on his smile and headed out the door to face the world.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Prompt 23: Monitor Duty</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Ted and Booster are on monitor duty. It goes as you might expect.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Do we have to?” Two voices chorus in near-unison.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Martian Manhunter’s face is as much of an answer as they’re likely to get, but to be fair, it’s a pretty complete answer. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, you need to take monitor duty because everyone else has actually important things to do. And if you make me delay in taking care of the important things I need to do right now, then monitor duty will be the least of your worries.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” Ted says, answering for the both of them, because really, which one of them has the balls to say no to that stern</span><em><span> I have looked through galaxies</span></em><span> expression?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which is how two hours later, the two of them are lounging in the monitor room, staring at the evening news. Booster has his feet up and is tossing a baseball he found somewhere up and down, up and down. Ted flips the channel. From the news to a gameshow. Not a massive improvement. He flips again. Sports, nothing he’s interested in. Again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-INJURED IN A CAR CRASH AND DON’T KNOW WHERE TO T-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He flips the channel back to the news, which is coming across at a volume level intended for normal human beings rather than whatever the lawyer ads was. A second later, the baseball hit the floor and bobbled across the tile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus, Ted,” Booster says from where he’s only barely caught himself from tipping all the way over in his chair. He still sits at a precarious angle, one hand on the wall to balance the chair on two legs. “What was that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Different signal strength,” Ted replies, scowling at the screen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the screen, the man currently on camera in the newsroom is a blue-suited man  with gray hair and a startled expression. He looks surprisingly animated for a network news anchor. “It seems as though they are in the buildi-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ted switches the channel again. Booster considers grabbing the baseball once more, then shrugs and sets the chair back on all four legs but doesn’t bother to get up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do lawyers always have to yell?” Booster muses. “Seems like if you need a lawyer, the last thinking you want is them yelling at you. Things are probably screwed up enough, if you’re calling a lawyer in the first place.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In case the people watching are old?” Ted jokes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two of them stare at one another over the silence that follows the thud of the joke landing like a bag of wet cement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, hopefully pretty soon someone will-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This train of thought gets derailed as the alert goes off -- an incoming message. Ted hits the button and some of G’Nort’s face appears on the screen. “Some of” because G’Nort has decided to film this message from about one foot from the camera. Both Justice League members have an excellent view up one canine nostril. It’s not ideal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh boy, am I glad to see you guys!” Gnort’s nostril says. “Listen, I need help-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you back up?” Booster asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>G’Nort pauses. The camera swings wildly. They get a passing view of one hairy ear, a whole landscape of fur and a little bit of motion sickness before things stabilize again and almost G’Nort’s whole face is on screen. “Better?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He clears his throat, then begins waving his arms in cartoonish, animated panic. “Listen, I need help!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong?” Ted asks, doing his best to sound professional and interested. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking surprised they would ask him that, G’Nort says, “Um… well, you see, I was making dinner. And I heard this noise, right? From outside. And I’m not expecting anyone to come around today, so I’m thinking maybe it’s a door to door salesman or something, but then I remember, we don’t have those on this planet. We don’t have… we don’t have anyone on this planet, really, except me. And so I start thinking then maybe it’s going to-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he rambles, Ted looks over at Booster for help. But Booster just shrugs and gestures to Ted. You’re the one actually on the monitor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, G’Nort. G’Nort! Hold on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The alien paused. “Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“G’Nort, what’s actually wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For some reason, this stumps G’nort. He looks down at the ground for a few long seconds, brow furrowed in thought. “Wrong…” He repeats, as though hearing the word for the first time. Tilts his head. Frowns harder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“G’Nort? Can you call back once you remember what’s wrong?” And without waiting for an answer, Ted flips back to the TV, then turns to Booster. “What can possibly be happening. Isn’t he in uninhabited space?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess if someone really is there, that could be a problem,” Booster muses. On the TV, the news anchor is talking to someone off screen. His microphone isn’t picking up any of it. Unprofessional. “But I guess if it actually was an intruder, he wouldn’t be having that much trouble remembering.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ted raises an eyebrow. Booster keeps a straight face for another three seconds with heroic effort, before a laugh breaks loose. “Fine. Fine, you’re right. Should we worry?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’ll call back when he remembers,” Ted says. “And even if something’s weird over there, why is he calling us? What are we going to do about a problem in deep space?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe he-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Booster’s thoughts on their abilities in deep space get cut off by the alert flashing again. Ted thumbs the button and says, “G’Nort, unless you have a-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do I look like G’Nort?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The voice. The accent. Both Ted and Booster turn guiltily toward the TV, where Fire stands, hands on hips, waiting expectantly for an answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“... no?” Booster tries.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moving rapidly along, Fire says, “We need backup downtown. Who’s there right now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just us,” Ted says, all business now. “What do you need help with?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hesitates. “Us…” she prompts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me and Booster.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hesitates again. Glances left. Hisses something to someone else under her breath. Looks back. “So do you know if the Martian Manhunter, or Batman might be back soon, or…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, they’re on some sort of enviro-political standoff thing down in Uruguay,” Ted explains, waving vaguely in the direction he thinks Uruguay might be. “Afraid it’s just us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fire bites her lip. Glances off screen again. “I see,” she says. “Well, sorry to bother you. Good night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, we can help-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, you’re breaking up, bye!” the connection terminates from the other side. The two JLI members sit in silence for a few seconds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Am I right to feel offended?” Ted asks after a while. “Because I feel offended.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that’s fair,” Booster says. “That was a definite passive aggressive ‘you’d just mess things up’ statement. I’d know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rude.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Definitely rude.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The alert flashes again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Ted turns the communicator on again, it’s G’Nort’s nose once more. “Guys, I remembered!”</span></p><p>
  <span>Ted turns his attention back to the TV with the slow deliberation of someone dealing with a child who has a </span><em><span>very </span></em><span>important story to share. “What is it you remembered, G’Nort?” he asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When I opened the door I looked out and there was this huge-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey losers!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>G’Nort’s nose gets replaced with Guy Gardner’s slightly red face, also close to the screen but thankfully not full-scale nostril exploration close. When both Ted and Booster startle back at his sudden appearance, he bursts out in a sharp laugh. “I wake you suckers up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guy!” Ted is half irritated, half just impressed. “We were talking to someone. How did you override the signal?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Guy gives Ted an incredulous look. “I’m calling on a Green Lantern Corps ring. You think some Earth tech is going to be able to stand up to that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Booster raises a finger, about to start talking, but Ted shakes his head. Absolutely no good can come from telling Guy he’s replaced another Green Lantern call. It’s just going to give him a big head. Big-er, at any rate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you want?” Ted asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was hoping someone important was there, but I guess you two can play messenger,” Guy says, not hiding his smirk. “Tell the bigwigs who’re way too cool to call Guy Gardner when they should that I took care of Uruguay. It was only one dumbass. I think the rest might be somewhere else, so call them and let them know they probably better turn themselves around and put those detective skills to work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Later.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There's a moment of static, then the news is back. The anchor has left his desk and is standing near the back of the set, ducking away from something overhead. A different man, dressed in a “Use a straw wrapper, we’ll put you in the crapper” shirt, sits at the desk, a stack of papers in his hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And the more we pollute the rainforest with plastic straw wrappers, the more it contributes to the coming ice age that-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow. they didn’t think that slogan through at all,” Booster notes. Ted squints at the screen and nods his agreement. “I mean, who would buy that. It doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And crapper? On a t-shirt? Really?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe it was designed by a twelve-year-old?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think most twelve-year-olds have better taste than ‘crapper.’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fair. Fair.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man cuts off as another person in the same awful t-shirt flies through the background. Ice went zipping through the scene a moment later. The guy at the desk looks offscreen and shouts something. Whatever he’s saying, it stops abruptly as a green-gloved fist connects with his chin, knocking him out of the chair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that … Fire’s fist?” Ted asks, squinting at the TV.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So this is what she was calling about,” Ted says, bemused. “I guess that’s the guys Batman was looking for.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On screen, the anchor has run completely out of frame. Fire steps in front of the camera and leans over. She straightens a moment later with the guy’s shirtfront balled up in one fist. “You gonna call your goons off?” she demands of the guy, who’s a blubbering mess and not exactly answering intelligibly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Looks like she has it under control,” Booster says critically as the alert flashes again. Ted watches the next punch, wincing a little at the sound of the impact, before flipping back to the alert.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello G’nort’s nose,” Booster says as a familiar image pops up. “Ted, is monitor duty always so busy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, this is kind of a lot,” Ted replies before addressing G’Nort. “Did you remember yet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes! Guys. I took my sandwich outside, because I thought I heard something, and when I was outside, I heard something again, so I flew up into the sky. And while I was up there, this meteor passed real close. I guess there was a meteor shower. I was surprised, but then I flew back down, and I think the sound I heard was a meteor, but now my sandwich is missing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your… sandwich?” Ted asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah! Do you think the meteors maybe had some secret aliens who steal sandwiches?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet again, Ted and Booster share a glance. Then Ted asks, “G’Nort, did you maybe drop the sandwich in space? When you got surprised by the meteor?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The nose looked as thoughtful as a dog-like nose ever looked. Then after about thirty excruciating seconds, the picture blooped off again. Booster tilted his head as the TV came back, now showing the news set empty but for one unconscious eco-terrorist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is monitor duty always this weird?” he asks at last.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ted sighs and flops back in his chair. “Nah. Sometimes it’s dumber.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Prompt 24: An Absolutely Normal Training Day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Booster and Ted have a totally normal training day.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“So you’re sure about this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ted grinned. “Trust me! It’ll be great.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both stood in tee-shirts and sweatpants in a room at Ted’s house. Booster thought it used to be some sort of formal sitting room last time he visited -- the sort of room where the furniture is nice so you can visit with company in there, but all your company is so informal that it feels too weird to go in there. Booster had seen it only once, and felt pretty sure there was enough dust that it gave the upholstery a whole new texture. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All of that was gone -- except a big bay window. It let in a lot of light on a fake-hardwood floor, a couple floor-to-ceiling mirrors, a treadmill, a rack of weights and … this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re sure about this,” Booster repeated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will you stop judging a book by its cover?” Ted replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To be sure, judging it by its cover would do little for this particular book. The machine in the center of the room looked somewhat terrifying --falling somewhere between an oversized doll and a piece of construction equipment. He’d made some effort to stretch a rubbery skin over the whole thing, both to protect it and the people around it, Booster supposed. But that just made the whole thing another step creepier. The face was a single, smooth piece of metal with only shallow protrusions and indentations for facial features.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you sleep with this thing in your house?” Booster asked, walking a slow circle around it. The thing looked rooted to the floor, which he assumed meant the bulk of its mechanical bits had to be down in the basement. Did you need some sort of special license for that?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Quite well, thanks,” Ted said, so jovially that it tipped over into sarcasm.”Now come on. Half the Justice League, they have powers. Guys like you and me, we have gadgets. And you know what that means.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ridiculous repair bills,” Booster agreed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ye- No! It means we get put in the same category as Batman. Which is totally unfair, since that guy can probably kick the butt of an entire army platoon without breaking a sweat. So you and I, my friend, need to bulk up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And we can’t do this in the same training area as everyone else because…” Booster prompted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ted shot him a look. Clear as a word. Clear as a book with its contents right on the cover. “Aww, come on, Ted,” Booster said, walking back around the monstrosity to stand by him. “No one is judging you or me or anyone like that. Well…” He paused. Amended, “well, Guy maybe, but he’s an ass. No one should listen to what he says. Dude, you move like an acrobat. It’s really impressive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ted looked skeptical. “Nah, this is going to be great. Just think of their faces when I show up, ripped-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“From this?” Booster paced around it again. “”Looks more like something that’ll rip you in half.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No pain, no gain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Throwing his hands up, Booster said, “Fine! How does it work. Let’s see the miracle in action.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now you’re talking.” Ted walked over to the rack of weights and picked up a silver box that had been resting on top. It turned out to be a remote control, about the size of a stick of butter. It featured a couple dials and two buttons.”Speed,” he said, pointing to one dial, then the other. “Strength, and these are the on and off buttons.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Simple enough,“ Booster said, looking but not touching. He’d been around enough inventors to know to always, </span>
  <em>
    <span>always </span>
  </em>
  <span>let them try the experiment first.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Three on the dial is average human,” Ted said, setting both dials there. “So, good place to start. Work my way up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You really don’t have to do this,” Booster tried one last time. If pressed, he would have to admit he was still judging the book by its unsettling, quasi-human cover. It seriously freaked him out. Reminded him of an inhuman amalgamation illustrated in a book of scary stories for kids he’d taken out of the library once upon a time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Ted took a deep breath and pressed the on button. For a moment, nothing happened. Then a low hissing sound began to emit from the machine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it supposed to do that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s the pressure building up in the hydraulics. Here.” He handed the remote to Booster and squared up opposite the machine. For a moment, they stood there, neither making the first move. Then Ted went in -- two quick steps and then punch aimed for the thing’s “face.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The entire mechanical body swayed left with speed that left the metal screaming, then its body rotated a full time around. The head, of course, stayed perfectly still because why move normally when it could move creepily? One of the flailing hands caught Ted full in the face and knocked him back, out of range.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Booster hurried over to where his friend lay sprawled out on the ground, propped up on one elbow and with the other hand over the red blotch on his face. “Ted, you OK?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh … yeah. Yeah, I think I’m fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, good,” Booster said. There was a beat, then he started laughing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not funny,” Ted said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. It wasn’t funny when I thought you might be hurt. But now that I know you’re fine, it’s hilarious,” Booster said between his laughter. “Your invention just slapped you across the room. Maybe you should have taken it on a date first before getting so close.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad to know your compassion runs only skin deep,” Ted said stiffly before starting to climb to his feet. Booster offered a hand. Ted scowled and got up on his own, but there wasn’t any real heat in it. Turning and surveying the still-twitching machine, he said, “I guess there are still a few kinks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Looks like,” Booster agreed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe when I assembled it, I didn’t account for the additive effect of the tubing. Or…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That caught Booster’s attention. “So, you didn’t test this before showing it off?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I tested … parts of it,” he said defensively. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Further discussion got cut off as the machine spun around again. And then again. The hissing sound had stopped, and in its place a whine had begun, low but climbing in volume and intensity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe we should turn it off,” Ted said. Wordlessly, Booster pressed the marked “off” button.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thing kept going.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frowning, Booster tried the button again. Then he handed the remote to Ted, who tried several more times. The combat dummy had begun to twitch back and forth, in addition to the shell of the chest rotating over and over. It had a very “if you get hit by this, it’s your own fault” vibe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, this is unexpected,” Ted said at last. He dialed both dials down to zero, but this didn’t cause any notable change in the performance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How worried should we be about this?” Booster asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Umm… I’m going to go down to the guts,” Ted said, backing away from the flailing machine. “And maybe you should put your suit on. Or at least the bit that gives you that force field.” Then he ran out of the room, heading toward the kitchen and, presumably, to the basement from there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Booster ran and got his belt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he came back, the machine almost looked possessed. It thrashed back and forth, still sometimes spinning. When this happened, the hands would smack into the floor, chipping up pieces of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ahh, shoot,” Came a muted voice from below. “Something got in here. This cord is chewed right through … which one is-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever mooring the sparring dummy was attached to seemed to be working loose with its wild gyrations. The movements were getting bigger, and he could see the metal box below it starting to peek up into the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You gonna turn this thing off, or…” Booster asked the floor. The room wasn’t all that big. He set himself up in front of the window. On the off chance this thing did tear free, he didn’t want it to go sailing straight out through the window and potentially into some neighborhood minivan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trying.” Ted’s voice carried equal parts exasperation and anxiety. “How’s that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you do something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then no change,” Booster blocked an incoming slap from the machine. Jeeze, that was supposed to be human strength and speed? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think … ah, are you kidding me? How could the … hold on!” Ted seemed to be carrying on a whole conversation with himself now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ted?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to try cutting the hose. Hold on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A moment later and the room erupted in a spray of liquid and the sparring monster just sort of … lifted off. Booster watched it slam through the ceiling, then heard it slam through another level above. He stepped under the gaping hole in time to see the thing sailing up into the cloudy sky, drifting a little toward the front of the house. Booster booked it outside to make sure the suburban nightmare he’d been trying to prevent earlier wouldn’t happen in a whole new way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He got out to the front lawn just as the training dummy came plummeting out of the sky and landed in the middle of the front yard in a shower of dirt. Booster blocked the flying particles from his face with one arm. When he lowered it, he saw the remains of the dummy poking out of a new crater.  Looking further, he saw a kid on a bike, maybe eight years old, staring. As he looked, a door across the street opened and a woman stepped out, shading her eyes and staring over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Footsteps came up behind him, and he turned to see Ted approaching, splattered head to foot in what he assumed was hydraulic fluid. He surveyed the front lawn, hands on hips, then let out a huge sigh. “We’re in trouble, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yup.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are the odds this gets back to the League?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For us? 100%.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fair point. Help me clean this up? We could use a workout still.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Booster grinned. “Hey. There’s always the League’s gym.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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